Billiards, Another Sherlolly Short
by Maejones
Summary: The gang plays pool. Sherlock gets jealous of Greg looking at Molly. Fanfiction, I don't own these characters.


"Oh look at that, The table's just come free. Anyone up for a game?" Mary asked with a grin. "It's been ages since I played."

When no one immediately answered, she stuck her lip out. "Oh, come on, it's the first night I've been away from the wee one and I want to make the most of it."

Sherlock looked down at the two empty pint glasses in front of her. "I thought that's what you were doing."

"Quiet you! Does no one want to play?" She implored to the table.

Greg Lestrade looked away as he slugged his ale. Molly twiddled with her straw. Finally, John sighed and replied.

"Erm, it's just that. Well, Sherlock always wins. He clears the table as soon as he gets hold of a cue."

Sherlock lifted his chin. "Really, John, you're such a poor sport. It's middle school Newtonian physics and basic geometry. If you would only apply some simple reasoning-"

"And he's a dick about it!" John cut him off.

"Well, he doesn't have to play. He can just observe as he so loves to do. We're oddly numbered anyways. We can play pairs. Girls against boys. What do you say, Molly? Want to show Greg and John how it's done?"

Molly shrugged. "Sure. Although, I-I'll probably end up showing them how it's _not_ done."

* * *

Sherlock's eyes followed the direction of Greg's view directly into Molly's gaping (well, maybe not gaping, but unintentionally revealing) blouse as she cued up a shot. His eyes constricted as he saw what had most likely caught Greg's licentious gaze. The curve of her breasts as well as her powder blue, laced trimmed brassiere was plain as day to anyone perverted enough to look.

His ire was further inflamed when Greg licked his lips as he intently watched Molly stroke the cue between her dainty digits. Finally, as Greg's head tilted sideways when she leaned further forward causing her bum to perk up in the air, Sherlock had had enough. This could not be born. Molly shouldn't be ogled in such a manner.

"Ooh, Good one, Molly. Nice shot!" Greg commented as she struck.

She wrinkled her nose. "But it didn't go in."

"You had fine form, though," he winked. "Just keep doing that and you'll sink the next one."

Molly handed Mary the cue with a shy grin. She seemed utterly clueless to Greg's overtures.

"Well, I'm off to the loo. Try not to win the game before I get back."

* * *

John leaned over to whisper to Mary. "Did you see the look on his face?"

Mary giggled. "Lord, and he's followed her to the back. Poor Molly! Do you think she's going to get an earful?"

* * *

Molly jumped as the first thing she saw when she opened the bathroom door was a dark, looming figure.

"My God, Sherlock, you scared the hell out of me!"

He glowered down at her and next thing she knew, she was backed into the bathroom again and the door was slammed behind them. She looked up at Sherlock into dangerously glinting eyes with her lips parted in disbelief. She felt a frission of energy course through her abdomen.

"What's going o-on? What's wrong?" She stuttered.

He looked over her face. A muscle in his jaw flexed. "Do you realize you're flashing half the pub every time you make a shot?"

He reached towards her and she felt the tug of his fingers as he buttoned her shirt all the way up to her throat. Her shock subsided. How dare he! She smacked his fingers away and flicked the buttons open again even as her face heated.

"To hell with you, Sherlock! What were you doing looking anyways?"

He set to work on the lapels of her shirt again. She moved to stop him. In a heartbeat, he had both her wrists imprisoned behind her back with one hand. His other hand deftly buttoned her blouse once more.

"Let go of me, you lout! You're not my keeper."

"I won't let Greg Lestrade ogle you," he muttered.

She squirmed against him. "What if I like to be ogled every once in a while? Hmm? It's the only action I seem to get these days."

"Stop that!" He growled.

She opened her mouth again but her words failed when she saw him heave in a deep breath.

"No, seriously, Molly. Stop wriggling . . . unless you want more action than you bargained for."

Her eyes bulged. Then she felt something insistent between them.

"Sherlock, am I imagining things or are you, um, keen?"

His fingers stilled on her shirt and then started trembling. A groan rumbled from deep within his chest and a second later, his mouth swooped down on hers so forcefully, she felt a strain in her neck. It only took her a moment to overcome her surprise and she bent herself against him and kissed him back just as ardently. He let go of her wrists and clutched her tightly to his frame as she plunged her fingers into his hair and gripped fistfuls of his curls

Her first snog with Sherlock, in a grungy toilet in the back of a seedy pub, and damn if it wasn't the hottest thing she'd ever experienced. He broke away then with hoarse pants.

"Molly, we obviously cannot take this any further in here," he mumbled. "I think you should forfeit the game and come back to Baker Street with me."


End file.
